Well I havent put up a post in a while but I think I will start again regularly, seeing as I am traveling across Europe. I probably could just cut out the middle man and email my Mom, but I like being able to pretend other people care about what Im doing so ill continue on the blog format...
Being my first post in a while, I apologize for the length and I promise to be more brief in the future.
Brenden and I landed in Dublin last week by way of Newark. We were picked up early Monday morning by Brendens uncle Dennis. The day was beautiful, the sky was blue and the air smelled distinctly like cows.
We came in in the morning and Dennis made us a traditional Irish breakfast. This includes sausage, bacon, eggs, potato patties, black pudding (we'll get to this atrocity) and baked beans. A few things ive discovered about Ireland; They have the best sausage and bacon in the world. I have no idea what is different about it, there is likely some foul ingredient that I dont know about, but they are so much better than any sausage or bacon ive had in my life.
Black pudding on the other hand falls a bit short... This 'pudding' is a paddy of black coagulated pigs blood, with chunks of liver and chopped intensities suspended in the baked blood goop. I can only imagine this horrendous concoction was developed with the goal of either using up what ever was left of a butchered pig, or with the intention of grossing out future American travelers. At any rate it succeeds marvelously at the latter. I will concede that it doesn't taste too bad.
Our first day in Dublin was marked with exhaustion. We didnt sleep for the entirety of the 30 hour journey and this was beginning to catch up with us. We took the responsible approach to jet lag and essentially ignored it, went out to bars and hoped it would go away.
We unfortunately didnt get much time in Dublin and saw very little of the city. We went to Trinity college, and walked around trying to do what ever we could that was free, but we only got about 30 hours there.
We went out that night with a girl that we met on the air plane. She is an absolutely marvelous Irish lass named Emma. She is an angel. She tooks us out to ridiculously packed streets for a Tuesday night. Every single bar we went to had live music without exception. The area, called temple bar, was crowded with young people. It was a fantastic night.
When we finally got home we were losing consciousness with our tiredness. But despite our efforts to sleep we were kept up by one of our 300 pound roommates who snored louder than anyone id ever met. This went on all night, 'snorlax' as we dubbed him could not be disturbed. The issue was not the way in which he slept, no matter how he rolled over the snoring never ceased. We spent the first night rolling over in our sheets. Or more precisely, I spent the first night rolling over in my sheets. Brenden however rolled over in the silk body condom he sleeps in every night for fear of European laundry services. If you know Brenden this should come as no surprise.
The next day we dragged our tired bodies out to the bus station, where surprisingly we ran into three friends of ours, and took a bus down to Waterford to meet another of Brendens uncles. This family has three of the most adorable little daughters, and we had some quality family time with all of them. On the first evening we all, the three young girls myself and Brenden, crawled into a bed (This was not nearly as creepy as it sounds) while Brenden read to us from a book about ponies.
Precious, I know.
The next day we all went golfing. Brenden and I, as it turns out, play golf in an equally appalling manner. By the end of the 18th hole Brenden had come back from 2 strokes down and we were all tied up and had to be settled in a dramatic playoff hole. I conceded and had to buy him a drink. I dont know how, but im certain he cheated.
The next day we were sent off by Brenden's uncle in true Irish fashion (with a whiskey and coke) towards Cork.
In Cork we ran into three girls from Oregon, one of whom recognized me from ski racing. It is indeed a small world. Brendens cousin met us there and took us out to a crazy Irish dance club. While in cork we went to Blarney castle to kiss the Blarney stone. On the way to the stone we met the craziest old man weve ever met. Upon finding out we were from America he asked us if we knew where Dion Warwick lived as if he wanted to send her a postcard or something. He continued to ask us if we knew a long list of American celebrities, we finally tried to explain the America is a large country. At another point through the trip he interrupted Brenden and I yelling,
Crazy man: "BAKED BEANS!"
Us: "Uh...what about them?"
CM "How much do they cost?"
Us: "Uh haha...Im not sure"
CM: "Well I love em'. You knowr I was bern and rais' n' Blarney. Neva left!"
Us: "You dont say..."
If you arent familiar with this Blarney stone it is a stone that one must hang themselves, upside down, over a 9 story drop in order to kiss. The rumor is that it gives one eloquence. If youve ever heard a person from Blarney speak you would know right away this rumor is bullshit.
After risking our lives to kiss a hunk of rock, we wandered around and tried to get off the beaten path. It was scorching hot, I have little doubt it was the warmest day of the year in Ireland. We were thirsty and hot and so we wandered into this random pub and immediately could feel all the eyes pressed on us. We were both wearing loud bright tee shirts, shorts and absurd sunglasses. Everyones expression read the same thing,
"Who the fock are dees lads"
We ordered 7ups to (further alienating ourselves). The men there were very friendly, mostly curious and shocked by our presence. We sat and talked to a few very difficult to understand, but very interesting and well informed old men about American and world politics.
We also discovered that we were in a bad part of town.
"Na how da fock did two yankee doodles such as yourselves wind up ina place such az dis?"
He informed us that under no circumstances were we to come near there after 8.
"Not to wurry now lads, yous be be safe as houses. But da recessions has not been kind here, and I wuddnt dare walk round dees parts at night wid my two largest lads here, and I aint so small me self eitha now"
And he wasnt small. I believed him, and his warning was dully noted.
That afternoon we headed off to Macroom where Brendens grandma still lives on the farm where his father, uncles and aunts all grew up. The weather was still gorgeous though again we were assured this was an absolute rarity. The area is exactly what you might imagine Ireland to look like. Rolling hills extending as far as the eye can see in every direction. There are two colors, the stripe of blue stretched across the ocean wave like hills of green. Such an overwhelming green. A stone tower, the likeness of a rook chess piece, stands stoically as it inevitably looses the battle against mother nature. The houses are spread miles apart, and the roads seem too narrow to allow single direction traffic. Gorgeous rolling hills. Green, the greenest green extending out forever.
Brendens family farm is an old handsome set of stone buildings. It is by no means luxurious but seems to secrete a sense of lasting quality. Long after the timber houses of home have been reclaimed by the earth I have no doubt this house will still stand proudly against the almost year long assault of rain.
Brendens grandma is a remarkable woman. She is tough as nails. You get the impression that you could put a yoke on her shoulders and she could drag a plow all herself. At the same time she is the warmest, gentlest, and kindest woman I think ive ever met. We did not starve, we eat like kings. Despite our protest she refused to let us even lift a finger.
Carrot and parsnip soup, homemade brown bread. Followed by Potatoes, ham (This ham was doubtlessly a pig less than a week ago and was truly the best ham i've ever had) followed by chicken, mashed potatoes, minced potatoes, baked potatoes, deep fried potatoes. We had pees, carrots and beans and home made gravy drenching all of it.
We ate until we thought we would burst, and then accepted the next portion forcing it down. Delicious, fresh and filling.
By morning we got a taste of Ireland. Rain was slapping the windows of the house with a force that surprised me. Brenden however assured me this was nothing but a taste of the ferocity the weather can have in these parts. We made our way to mass as the weather cleared a bit.
Mass was only a half hour (its no wonder the people here are able to maintain such faith). It seems to serve an important social purpose in an area where the houses are so spread apart. It appears every person in the town is a cousin or second cousin of Brenden, including the priest. As we were introduced to a slew of wonderfully friendly people I discovered this area breeds tough souls. We met an 85 year old woman who hitch hiked a ride up to the local pub for a pint and a dose of the heavy Macroom gossip every day.
On our final day in Ireland we sat and watched the hurling national championship. Professional sports in Ireland are far different from those in the US. For one, you have to play for the county team where you were born and raised. This instills serious county pride in the people, and cut throat support for their teams.
If you've never seen hurling you need to check it out. It is such an exciting game. Players run down the field at full speed, balancing a ball on the end of a field hockey stick, pop it up and hit it like a baseball 100 yards through narrow goal posts. All at full speed with incredible accuracy.
We eventually left the peaceful and beautiful farm for Dublin where we flew out this morning to Berlin. After arguing tirelessly with the people behind the counter who wanted to charge us 250 euro for each of our bags, Brenden (who did most of the arguing) and I miraculously escaped any bag fees.
As we walked out on the tarmac we were assaulted by rain. The rain doesn't seem to fall from above as much as it seems to levitate in the air and get thrown with accuracy directly into your face by directionless wind. As we fought through the wind, our hair thrown back, we couldn't help but yell at each-other over the weather
"I dont know why our ancestors ever wanted to leave this place!"
Monday, September 6, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
I know I know its been forever.....
So if you've been sitting on the edge of you're chair waiting for another blog post (which I pray is no one), or if you just have nothing better to read at work (I'm talking about you Lauren Barry) or you just love me (Mom) than you may have noticed I haven't updated this in quite sometime.
Im still alive.
Hope that cleared up some of the confusion. Also my lack of writing has nothing to do with me not having enough things to write about. In fact quite the contrary, I have been too busy to write! In the small amount of time I've had to write I couldn't decide where to start because I had TOO many things to write about.
That is also a disclaimer (excuse) for the poorly organized post that Im about to write. Its sort of the shotgun method of story telling.
My experience at the hospital has been amazing. The amount of access Ive been given is astounding and borderline concerning. When I got my ID card I went to the security office and on my form there was nothing underneath the column labeled: ACCESSES. This indicated I was not allowed to get access to any specifically protected area, something thats makes a lot of sense as I have zero qualifications what so ever (well I am American Red cross certified to perform CPR. No big deal)
Upon getting my ID card the head of security, and I really don't want to get anyone in trouble here, when looking at my form said,
"Well thats not going to allow you to see much, why don't we give you access to the theaters (operating rooms) and the wards"
I didn't not find any objection though I have a suspicion a few lawyers might.
As far as access once in the theaters (there is no stadium seating, its just what they call an OR) has been amazing. I have seen such a wide range of procedures.
I spent a week in the cath-lab watching minimally invasive cardiac procedures. Basically they stick a guide wire up your leg and into your aorta and with the aid of real time video X-ray, can inject contrast stains to visualize the arteries supplying blood to the heart.
They can also do procedures this way. The most common procedure is a stinting, where they basically stick a spring loaded cage into an narrowed artery (up through the femoral artery in your leg) and pop it open (in turn popping open the artery). Its a pretty slick and quick little trick when your heart is sick...( I didn't mean for that all to rhyme) I guess thats what it would be like if you had the world famous cardiologist Dr. Seuss ('After thoroughly studying your angio-gram, you need to lay off the green eggs and ham')
Maybe I do have too much time.
The things they are able to do are really amazing. They do another procedure that is essentially a roto-rooter. They put a special wire up your leg and down into a narrowing artery that spins at a few thousand rpms. It is specially coated to cut through hardened calcium but when it touches the endothelium of the artery it doesn't cut (sort of like a plaster cast saw). All the procedures I saw went very well but I did get to witness a little bit of drama that would do well in ER, or Greys anatomy.
The X-ray technician in the lab I was watching has been doing these procedures for about 45 years. Although he is not a doctor he knows ALOT about these procedures. It was very common for the cardiologist to ask his opinion about where to place a stint and what catheter to use ect. Once while placing a stint the X-ray tech started to shout to the doctor that the stint was not being placed right.
They began to argue a bit, but the x-ray tech finally settled down and just as the stint was placed, it dissected. More argument erupted as the tech mentioned that it was exactly what he said was going to happen, and the assistant cardiologist was getting frustrated with both of them and suddenly the patient went into cardiac arrest. It was not the fault of neglect because of the argument, but because of thrombosis from the poorly placed stint.
The place suddenly got very organized as they tried to take a balloon catheter to open the stint wider, but this was unsuccessful. They started right away doing CPR. Within a few minutes, just about every cardiologist and cardiac surgeon was in the room, as a few of them took turns giving very extensive CPR. Its a little strange to see CPR because you have a tendency to think that if youre in a hospital there is something more they can do, but apart from immediate bypass surgery (which is a nearly impossible battle against the clock) there really isnt much.
It was a very somber sort of room, everyone seemed pretty moved which also surprised me. I would think that doctors are typically not strangers to death but everyone was pretty effected, and one of the nurses was even crying. After a few minutes they set a timer on the wall, four minutes. If they couldn't get her heart beating in four minutes they would stop. The four minutes ticked away and some argued there was no point in trying that long, while other argued to try longer. But the time ran out, she was taken away and there was a brief sort of moment where everyone worked in silence or sort of looked at the ground quietly, not really out of remorse but out of respect, and then the next case came in.
Everyone sort of took a deep breath and it was back to business as usual. The talk became very practical: what exactly went wrong, what was unavoidable and what was avoidable. Not to place blame but for practical data collection sort of purposes. The crowd dispersed and people were smiling and carrying on, discussing hospital policy or the Tour de France.
Also this last week I had the opportunity to scrub in on a triple bypass aortic valve replacement surgery. It was amazing and certainly of questionable legality. I got to poke around at the heart, feel the aorta diastolicly and systolicly, squeeze diseased arteries and generally cop a feel. It was fantastic, I had sort of a giddy smile on my face. It was great, and the patient survived despite my poking around. Phew!
On the non-hospital side of things ive been having a blast. I suddenly have too many friends here to keep track of. All of the international students have descended the university where I am staying so ive been meeting people from all over the world. Also ive been able to sneak the free dinners that are provided for them.
The other night at dinner I was sitting with a Mexican, two Norwegian Girls, a Dutch Girl, two French guys and a guy from Vietnam. We were all sitting around talking about this and that until I realized I was the only native English speaker. There was something cool about all of us sitting around talking in the sort of universal language communicating with each other from all over the world (there was also something pathetic about the fact that I was the only person at the table that wasnt fully (at least) bilingual).
I went out with some of my friends, which includes an Irish girl who is the most prolific and skilled curser I've ever met in my life and was walking from bar to bar until I ran into Nate Fritz. That may sound like nothing if you don't know Nate Fritz like I have since I was about 11 years old. We both stared at each other for at least ten seconds in a sort of disbelief. It really is the most 'small world' sort of encounter I've ever had.
In other Christopher Chapman news ive been playing lacrosse with the University team, I am going skiing tomorrow and I leave to travel the country next Saturday.
The aussie word of the day: "arvo" Its an abbreviation for afternoon. I know what you're thinking, exactly what I thought, "But theres no 'V' in afternoon?" I guess when it comes to 'abbrevs' in the southern hemisphere, like sun tanning at Christmas or skiing in July, it doesn't make sense.
Im still alive.
Hope that cleared up some of the confusion. Also my lack of writing has nothing to do with me not having enough things to write about. In fact quite the contrary, I have been too busy to write! In the small amount of time I've had to write I couldn't decide where to start because I had TOO many things to write about.
That is also a disclaimer (excuse) for the poorly organized post that Im about to write. Its sort of the shotgun method of story telling.
My experience at the hospital has been amazing. The amount of access Ive been given is astounding and borderline concerning. When I got my ID card I went to the security office and on my form there was nothing underneath the column labeled: ACCESSES. This indicated I was not allowed to get access to any specifically protected area, something thats makes a lot of sense as I have zero qualifications what so ever (well I am American Red cross certified to perform CPR. No big deal)
Upon getting my ID card the head of security, and I really don't want to get anyone in trouble here, when looking at my form said,
"Well thats not going to allow you to see much, why don't we give you access to the theaters (operating rooms) and the wards"
I didn't not find any objection though I have a suspicion a few lawyers might.
As far as access once in the theaters (there is no stadium seating, its just what they call an OR) has been amazing. I have seen such a wide range of procedures.
I spent a week in the cath-lab watching minimally invasive cardiac procedures. Basically they stick a guide wire up your leg and into your aorta and with the aid of real time video X-ray, can inject contrast stains to visualize the arteries supplying blood to the heart.
They can also do procedures this way. The most common procedure is a stinting, where they basically stick a spring loaded cage into an narrowed artery (up through the femoral artery in your leg) and pop it open (in turn popping open the artery). Its a pretty slick and quick little trick when your heart is sick...( I didn't mean for that all to rhyme) I guess thats what it would be like if you had the world famous cardiologist Dr. Seuss ('After thoroughly studying your angio-gram, you need to lay off the green eggs and ham')
Maybe I do have too much time.
The things they are able to do are really amazing. They do another procedure that is essentially a roto-rooter. They put a special wire up your leg and down into a narrowing artery that spins at a few thousand rpms. It is specially coated to cut through hardened calcium but when it touches the endothelium of the artery it doesn't cut (sort of like a plaster cast saw). All the procedures I saw went very well but I did get to witness a little bit of drama that would do well in ER, or Greys anatomy.
The X-ray technician in the lab I was watching has been doing these procedures for about 45 years. Although he is not a doctor he knows ALOT about these procedures. It was very common for the cardiologist to ask his opinion about where to place a stint and what catheter to use ect. Once while placing a stint the X-ray tech started to shout to the doctor that the stint was not being placed right.
They began to argue a bit, but the x-ray tech finally settled down and just as the stint was placed, it dissected. More argument erupted as the tech mentioned that it was exactly what he said was going to happen, and the assistant cardiologist was getting frustrated with both of them and suddenly the patient went into cardiac arrest. It was not the fault of neglect because of the argument, but because of thrombosis from the poorly placed stint.
The place suddenly got very organized as they tried to take a balloon catheter to open the stint wider, but this was unsuccessful. They started right away doing CPR. Within a few minutes, just about every cardiologist and cardiac surgeon was in the room, as a few of them took turns giving very extensive CPR. Its a little strange to see CPR because you have a tendency to think that if youre in a hospital there is something more they can do, but apart from immediate bypass surgery (which is a nearly impossible battle against the clock) there really isnt much.
It was a very somber sort of room, everyone seemed pretty moved which also surprised me. I would think that doctors are typically not strangers to death but everyone was pretty effected, and one of the nurses was even crying. After a few minutes they set a timer on the wall, four minutes. If they couldn't get her heart beating in four minutes they would stop. The four minutes ticked away and some argued there was no point in trying that long, while other argued to try longer. But the time ran out, she was taken away and there was a brief sort of moment where everyone worked in silence or sort of looked at the ground quietly, not really out of remorse but out of respect, and then the next case came in.
Everyone sort of took a deep breath and it was back to business as usual. The talk became very practical: what exactly went wrong, what was unavoidable and what was avoidable. Not to place blame but for practical data collection sort of purposes. The crowd dispersed and people were smiling and carrying on, discussing hospital policy or the Tour de France.
Also this last week I had the opportunity to scrub in on a triple bypass aortic valve replacement surgery. It was amazing and certainly of questionable legality. I got to poke around at the heart, feel the aorta diastolicly and systolicly, squeeze diseased arteries and generally cop a feel. It was fantastic, I had sort of a giddy smile on my face. It was great, and the patient survived despite my poking around. Phew!
On the non-hospital side of things ive been having a blast. I suddenly have too many friends here to keep track of. All of the international students have descended the university where I am staying so ive been meeting people from all over the world. Also ive been able to sneak the free dinners that are provided for them.
The other night at dinner I was sitting with a Mexican, two Norwegian Girls, a Dutch Girl, two French guys and a guy from Vietnam. We were all sitting around talking about this and that until I realized I was the only native English speaker. There was something cool about all of us sitting around talking in the sort of universal language communicating with each other from all over the world (there was also something pathetic about the fact that I was the only person at the table that wasnt fully (at least) bilingual).
I went out with some of my friends, which includes an Irish girl who is the most prolific and skilled curser I've ever met in my life and was walking from bar to bar until I ran into Nate Fritz. That may sound like nothing if you don't know Nate Fritz like I have since I was about 11 years old. We both stared at each other for at least ten seconds in a sort of disbelief. It really is the most 'small world' sort of encounter I've ever had.
In other Christopher Chapman news ive been playing lacrosse with the University team, I am going skiing tomorrow and I leave to travel the country next Saturday.
The aussie word of the day: "arvo" Its an abbreviation for afternoon. I know what you're thinking, exactly what I thought, "But theres no 'V' in afternoon?" I guess when it comes to 'abbrevs' in the southern hemisphere, like sun tanning at Christmas or skiing in July, it doesn't make sense.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Work!
So I am all settled in to my new place, and Elizabeth Tatoulis, who has graciously and quite effectively taken on the role as my Australian Mom, has insured that I have settled in quite comfortably and with no shortage of food.
I began working yesterday and got the opportunity to watch a mitral valve replacement and a nuss procedure. A mitral valve replacement is where they replace the valve in between the left atrium and the left ventricle. After I asked him how long the replacement valve would last the surgeon also told us jokingly "all valves come with a lifetime grantee" (the patients lifetime if you dont get it)
A nuss procedure is where they put a huge stainless steel bar underneath the sternum and bend it up as to push out a pectus excatvatum, or concave dented chest.
The first operation was incredibly delicate full of finesse when compared to the less subtle cracking of the rib cage. Truthfully the tools on the bench looked like they were borrowed from the Spanish inquisition.
I also got to watch a triple bypass on a completely beating heart, which I didnt even think was possible.
The surgery was really incredible. What has been so great is that this is a teaching hospital, and ive been viewing surgeries with residents of the hospital. As such the surgeons have been amazingly informative. The duration of the surgery (hopefully not to the patients expense) was full of quizes and lessons of sort. From "What from physics do you now about the type of electricity used in diathermy so that it does not effect the patients heart?" to "What drug will we use to reverse the effects of heparin?"
Obviously I was behind the residence in most areas (especially in those pertaining to anatomy) but was still able to keep up quite well.
This morning I went on rounds with the residents which was also a bit taxing on the old bean, as I was not totally exempt from questioning about subjects I have no idea about. Right off the bat I got:
"Christopher, judging by this chest X-ray do you think he has any pleral effusion?"
I didnt know, so I said "I dont know"
"Well what can you tell from the costophrenic angle?"
..uh
.....
........
..........?
All the residents looked at me and I could feel crickets chirping. I was a little embarrassed cause I didnt know the answer, but also I was very gratified that they would even ask the question which sort of implied they thought I might know the answer.
"I actually haven't been to medical school"and I thought that would clear up the mix up, and solve my little issue, but the Dr. said she knew that and continued to look at me for an answer. A few bars of staggering later she bailed me out. In case youre wondering he had no pleral effusion (fluid in the lungs, duh), and the costophrenic angle (allegedly) made that quite obvious.
Being in the care of Dr. Tatoulis is great because nobody questions him. Hes one of the most senior members in the hospital and everyone knows him. Im not sure if its just the nature of Australians, or their fear of "the prof", as they call him, but either way everyone is incredibly nice and accommodating to me at the hospital.
People here are very keen on American politics, and I mean every aspect of American politics. I expected some questions about Obama, and the Iraq war but yesterday someone seriously asked my opinion on the Kennedy assassination conspiracy! How does an Australian even know about that? They (if I may make a sweeping generalization based on limited experiences) may not know that much about their own government, but they are extremely welI informed (and critical) about ours. I cant speak with out people instantly recognizing where im from (the accent), which naturally stems countless jokes about Americas death penalty, our horrible coffee, and what seems to be everyones favorite topic; our gun control laws (or lack there of).
Australian word of the day: If you called a small child a toddler, people may think youre saying hes drunk. An "ankle biter" is apparently a better term for a small child.
I began working yesterday and got the opportunity to watch a mitral valve replacement and a nuss procedure. A mitral valve replacement is where they replace the valve in between the left atrium and the left ventricle. After I asked him how long the replacement valve would last the surgeon also told us jokingly "all valves come with a lifetime grantee" (the patients lifetime if you dont get it)
A nuss procedure is where they put a huge stainless steel bar underneath the sternum and bend it up as to push out a pectus excatvatum, or concave dented chest.
The first operation was incredibly delicate full of finesse when compared to the less subtle cracking of the rib cage. Truthfully the tools on the bench looked like they were borrowed from the Spanish inquisition.
I also got to watch a triple bypass on a completely beating heart, which I didnt even think was possible.
The surgery was really incredible. What has been so great is that this is a teaching hospital, and ive been viewing surgeries with residents of the hospital. As such the surgeons have been amazingly informative. The duration of the surgery (hopefully not to the patients expense) was full of quizes and lessons of sort. From "What from physics do you now about the type of electricity used in diathermy so that it does not effect the patients heart?" to "What drug will we use to reverse the effects of heparin?"
Obviously I was behind the residence in most areas (especially in those pertaining to anatomy) but was still able to keep up quite well.
This morning I went on rounds with the residents which was also a bit taxing on the old bean, as I was not totally exempt from questioning about subjects I have no idea about. Right off the bat I got:
"Christopher, judging by this chest X-ray do you think he has any pleral effusion?"
I didnt know, so I said "I dont know"
"Well what can you tell from the costophrenic angle?"
..uh
.....
........
..........?
All the residents looked at me and I could feel crickets chirping. I was a little embarrassed cause I didnt know the answer, but also I was very gratified that they would even ask the question which sort of implied they thought I might know the answer.
"I actually haven't been to medical school"and I thought that would clear up the mix up, and solve my little issue, but the Dr. said she knew that and continued to look at me for an answer. A few bars of staggering later she bailed me out. In case youre wondering he had no pleral effusion (fluid in the lungs, duh), and the costophrenic angle (allegedly) made that quite obvious.
Being in the care of Dr. Tatoulis is great because nobody questions him. Hes one of the most senior members in the hospital and everyone knows him. Im not sure if its just the nature of Australians, or their fear of "the prof", as they call him, but either way everyone is incredibly nice and accommodating to me at the hospital.
People here are very keen on American politics, and I mean every aspect of American politics. I expected some questions about Obama, and the Iraq war but yesterday someone seriously asked my opinion on the Kennedy assassination conspiracy! How does an Australian even know about that? They (if I may make a sweeping generalization based on limited experiences) may not know that much about their own government, but they are extremely welI informed (and critical) about ours. I cant speak with out people instantly recognizing where im from (the accent), which naturally stems countless jokes about Americas death penalty, our horrible coffee, and what seems to be everyones favorite topic; our gun control laws (or lack there of).
Australian word of the day: If you called a small child a toddler, people may think youre saying hes drunk. An "ankle biter" is apparently a better term for a small child.
Friday, June 25, 2010
So I live at Hogwarts
Yeah you read the title correctly, today I moved into my living quarters and it turns out it is a mythical castle where they teach magic, or it at least looks like it.
The Building:
My Room:
The Dining hall, you cant tell me that doesnt look familiar:
Despite being a nation where grown men willingly play field hockey, culturally the US and Australia are pretty well in line. Burger King (for what ever reason) is called Hungry Jacks, Starbucks is on every other corner instead of every corner and they charge you 30 cents for ketchup (they call tomato sauce) to put on your chips (not french fries) which is I think ethically wrong. Now I know Australia doesnt have a bill or rights but you would think that somewhere it would be mandated that ketchup (or what ever you choose to call it) packets should be free and bountiful.
Other small differences include: no brewed coffee. I thought that everyone drank drip coffee but they dont, they dont even sell it at star bucks. Its expresso or no coffee. This is very annoying if you dont like expresso or spending 4 dollars on your coffee or in my case both.
Also much like europe when you ask for tap water with your meal in Australia, they look at you sympathetically like a poor, troubled individual who clearly need therapy.
Yesterday I went to the south coast of Australia and watched thousands of little penguins march in from a day out at sea...they didn't let us take pictures but if you're incapable of google image searching "Australian Penguins" then you couldn't be reading this anyway. The site despite being very touristy was actually pretty cool and well worth the trip.
Im staying in the University but they are on Holiday, so the place is pretty empty. Last night (which was Friday night) I began my quest to meet Australians. I first went to the rock climbing gym and climbed for a while and met a few people (who were admittedly a little strange but I was in desperate need) and they took me out to a few bars and bought me lots of drinks but unfortunately had to leave somewhat early.
I walked home content with the night thus far when it then dawned on me that despite there being McDonalds and Burger Jack Hungry King, there are no Taco Bells. Where you are supposed to wander after a night at the bars to get a 99 cent burrito with dogfood meat remains to me a great mystery.
Thank god I found KFC.
While in KFC I observed 5 young people 3 men dressed in Golf Attire, and 2 young ladies dressed very scantly in what appeared to be tennis attire. Golfer pro's and tennis hoes themed parties apparently knows no borders. I easdropped and they were discussing how to play the American game Beer Pong. "No no you need 6 cups on each side and 8 ping pong balls" interjected short white skirt, "No no 11 cups on each side" corrected pink polo vest.
I felt obligated as an American, as many other americans have in the past to impose my knowledge on clearly a lesser people (see 'Native Americans' 'The Philippines' 'South America' 'Iraq' 'Afghanistan' for more on this)
Upon discovering I was infact an American, they listened to my version of the rules of Beer pong as though they were scripture.
The sporty group, awed by my seemingly infinite wisdom, invited me with them and we went out to the bars once more. I met all of their friends and it turns out they are all med students. Small world.
I got a few of there numbers and added a few of them on facebook and am currently sitting waiting for some sort of indication that they want to continue being friends (yeah I know im really cool)
At any rate im slowly making my way into the melbourne social scene and ill keep you all posted.
Australian word of the day: You do not order pitchers of beer, or everyone you are with will laugh at you. It is of course, a jug.
The Building:
My Room:
The Dining hall, you cant tell me that doesnt look familiar:
Despite being a nation where grown men willingly play field hockey, culturally the US and Australia are pretty well in line. Burger King (for what ever reason) is called Hungry Jacks, Starbucks is on every other corner instead of every corner and they charge you 30 cents for ketchup (they call tomato sauce) to put on your chips (not french fries) which is I think ethically wrong. Now I know Australia doesnt have a bill or rights but you would think that somewhere it would be mandated that ketchup (or what ever you choose to call it) packets should be free and bountiful.
Other small differences include: no brewed coffee. I thought that everyone drank drip coffee but they dont, they dont even sell it at star bucks. Its expresso or no coffee. This is very annoying if you dont like expresso or spending 4 dollars on your coffee or in my case both.
Also much like europe when you ask for tap water with your meal in Australia, they look at you sympathetically like a poor, troubled individual who clearly need therapy.
Yesterday I went to the south coast of Australia and watched thousands of little penguins march in from a day out at sea...they didn't let us take pictures but if you're incapable of google image searching "Australian Penguins" then you couldn't be reading this anyway. The site despite being very touristy was actually pretty cool and well worth the trip.
Im staying in the University but they are on Holiday, so the place is pretty empty. Last night (which was Friday night) I began my quest to meet Australians. I first went to the rock climbing gym and climbed for a while and met a few people (who were admittedly a little strange but I was in desperate need) and they took me out to a few bars and bought me lots of drinks but unfortunately had to leave somewhat early.
I walked home content with the night thus far when it then dawned on me that despite there being McDonalds and Burger Jack Hungry King, there are no Taco Bells. Where you are supposed to wander after a night at the bars to get a 99 cent burrito with dogfood meat remains to me a great mystery.
Thank god I found KFC.
While in KFC I observed 5 young people 3 men dressed in Golf Attire, and 2 young ladies dressed very scantly in what appeared to be tennis attire. Golfer pro's and tennis hoes themed parties apparently knows no borders. I easdropped and they were discussing how to play the American game Beer Pong. "No no you need 6 cups on each side and 8 ping pong balls" interjected short white skirt, "No no 11 cups on each side" corrected pink polo vest.
I felt obligated as an American, as many other americans have in the past to impose my knowledge on clearly a lesser people (see 'Native Americans' 'The Philippines' 'South America' 'Iraq' 'Afghanistan' for more on this)
Upon discovering I was infact an American, they listened to my version of the rules of Beer pong as though they were scripture.
The sporty group, awed by my seemingly infinite wisdom, invited me with them and we went out to the bars once more. I met all of their friends and it turns out they are all med students. Small world.
I got a few of there numbers and added a few of them on facebook and am currently sitting waiting for some sort of indication that they want to continue being friends (yeah I know im really cool)
At any rate im slowly making my way into the melbourne social scene and ill keep you all posted.
Australian word of the day: You do not order pitchers of beer, or everyone you are with will laugh at you. It is of course, a jug.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Writing you from the future....
That's right. Little did I know that while traveling to Australia, I was also travelling in time. It is Monday evening, the 21st almost Tuesday in fact, and all of you back at home are stuck way back on Sunday. I don't want to spoil the future for you but Sunday was rather uneventful, as a matter of fact I didn't even get to experience the 20th at all. It just sort of disappeared, which is a shame, I typically enjoy Sundays....
At any rate I suspect that I will eventually get that day back; apparently when I leave Australia I will arrive before I left. Not that I'm in any hurry to leave, but there is something rather exciting about that idea.
I have developed a bad habit of assuming almost subconsciously that anyone who speaks with an accent different than mine must be speaking English as a second language. So I habitually talk to Australians slowly and use simple words which both makes me look like an asshole and unintelligent. Im trying to break this habit.
Australia is gorgeous. It was a perfectly sunny autumn day when I arrived here. They do however drive on the wrong side of the road. I find this very concerning. I do not anticipate I will very soon become comfortable with the idea, and fear that I might get killed crossing the street. You look right then left. This is very confusing. They also spell things incorrectly. "Colour" and "apologise". I find this exciting because if I ever misspell a word (which is extraordinarily common) I can just pretend that is how it is spelled in America.
The plane ride was very comfortable. I sat next to too Chileans which was exciting because I love the opportunity to speak in Spanish when ever I can, unfortunately they love the chance to speak English so we spent the duration of the trip battling between English and Spanish.
I cannot report unfortunately if the toilet actually spins the opposite direction or not. It seems to be the same, but I forget which way it spins at home so nothing to report on that front..
Im staying currently with our family friends the Tatoulis's (that most certainly is spelled wrong). Their house is wonder full and they truly are some of the most accommodating generous people alive. If you've made it this far in the blog post I promise that in the future I wont post nonsense rambling like this, but unfortunately at his point I really haven't done anything to speak of but nap and read the paper (papers here are ridiculously large and wide, I don't know if Australians just have longer arms than other people but you seriously need to be Michael Phelps to hold the things stretched out properly)
Anyway I'm here. I'm safe. I'm well cared for and I suspect I will have more to write about later.
Peace
At any rate I suspect that I will eventually get that day back; apparently when I leave Australia I will arrive before I left. Not that I'm in any hurry to leave, but there is something rather exciting about that idea.
I have developed a bad habit of assuming almost subconsciously that anyone who speaks with an accent different than mine must be speaking English as a second language. So I habitually talk to Australians slowly and use simple words which both makes me look like an asshole and unintelligent. Im trying to break this habit.
Australia is gorgeous. It was a perfectly sunny autumn day when I arrived here. They do however drive on the wrong side of the road. I find this very concerning. I do not anticipate I will very soon become comfortable with the idea, and fear that I might get killed crossing the street. You look right then left. This is very confusing. They also spell things incorrectly. "Colour" and "apologise". I find this exciting because if I ever misspell a word (which is extraordinarily common) I can just pretend that is how it is spelled in America.
The plane ride was very comfortable. I sat next to too Chileans which was exciting because I love the opportunity to speak in Spanish when ever I can, unfortunately they love the chance to speak English so we spent the duration of the trip battling between English and Spanish.
I cannot report unfortunately if the toilet actually spins the opposite direction or not. It seems to be the same, but I forget which way it spins at home so nothing to report on that front..
Im staying currently with our family friends the Tatoulis's (that most certainly is spelled wrong). Their house is wonder full and they truly are some of the most accommodating generous people alive. If you've made it this far in the blog post I promise that in the future I wont post nonsense rambling like this, but unfortunately at his point I really haven't done anything to speak of but nap and read the paper (papers here are ridiculously large and wide, I don't know if Australians just have longer arms than other people but you seriously need to be Michael Phelps to hold the things stretched out properly)
Anyway I'm here. I'm safe. I'm well cared for and I suspect I will have more to write about later.
Peace
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Ive Created a blog
Ive decided to create a blog to articulate to the world my travels and exploits of the next few months. For those of you reading, which unless you happen to be my mother is presumably no one, I am currently in transit to the bustling metropolis of Melbourne.
I find myself in LAX. I have found that an airport is almost perfectly analogous to the city in which it resides. FOR EXAMPLE: PDX, or Portland international airport is a very clean, homogeneous, friendly, not very crowded airport that like the city (and the state) is very overwhelmingly green (at least the carpet is). LAX in contrast is incredibly crowded, loud and it impossible to find your way around. You are overwhelmed by a sinking feeling that someone is going to rob you. The thing that stands out most however is that no one speaks English. Truly, no body.
I have been in South America, Mexico and just about every country in western Europe and I have never been in a place where English is more scarcely spoken. As earlier mentioned it is very hard to find your way around, this problem is elevated by the language gap.
Allow me to set the scene. I walked off of the airplane and immediately stepped in a childs vomit. This gift stayed with me for a considerable amount of time as vomit tends to do on ones shoes in the linoleum jungle that is LAX. I wandered for ever until I finally found someone who spoke English (at least I think) but she was Australian, and I mean really Australian and I couldn't understand a word she said to me (this doesn't bode well for the future). I finally found some carpet to sort of rid my shoes of the aforementioned vomit and found perhaps the only open outlet in the whole place. I am sitting shoulder to shoulder with an indian man blaring sitar music and am currently less than chipper about this airport.
There are also no clocks in the building. Having left behind my cell phone and conveniently packing my watch deep in my checked bag where it can be perfectly useless finding the time is not as easy as one might expect. People become very suspicious when you ask them the time, they typically stop look around and check their wallets.
Also I feel like this can not go un noted. There is a strip club in LAX. I feel like that sorta speaks for itself.
HOWEVER, Im very excited to be leaving for another continent in just a few hours. You may be thinking to yourself "How narcissistic that he would think we would care to read about a trip through LAX" and I couldnt agree more. It is perhaps the most mundane thing I could imagine. But its my blog. Deal with it.
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